


he's just european

by venomedveins



Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: College AU, Friendship, M/M, Mistaken Friendship, Nasir thinks Agron is straight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-07 09:27:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16851490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: flash fic prompt --- modern/college au where nasir assumes agron is straight bc he's such a stereotypical white boy jock all 'HE'S JUST EUROPEAN, GUYS'. agron is always opening doors for him and putting his hand on the small of his back and moving his hair behind his ear and nasir and is just like 'JUST BROS BEING GUYS, JUST GUYS BEING BROS' whilst agron is v pleased about the romance wondering when nasir will stop being shy. basically give me disaster gay nasir being oblivious tbh





	he's just european

**Author's Note:**

  * For [habibinasir (lulu_kitty)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulu_kitty/gifts).



> based on [this post](https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/dangercupcakemurdericing/179149915291)

Nasir knows, okay? He fucking knows. And he tells himself it nearly daily, growing to almost every twelve hours, sometimes every six hours. Agron is, well, okay. Agron is European. Central European. Things are different in Germany. Nasir has never been but he's sure things are different. 

For one thing, Agron puts mustard on everything. And not some neon yellow American mustard. No, it has to be the right mustard. There is apparently one for every type of food and Agron and Duro have a stockpile of it. It’s the same with quark, some strange cheese thing they get at the deli on 4th. And then Agron is picky about his beer. He only drinks German, maybe Irish if he’s feeling particularly lenient. 

And these are quirks. And it’s fine. Really. Nasir can accept it. Agron is foreign. 

It's just. Okay. Agron and Nasir met at Naevia and Mira's house warming party back in Freshman year. Agron was a sophomore, still undecided, and ridiculously bad at small talk. Nasir had to suffer through half an hour of it before they finally found a subject they could talk about. It was their fierce hatred for Kraft cheese slices. Nasir can’t even remember how it was brought up, but Agron made a joke and Nasir made a face and then Agron had to flash his dimples. Then it was fate - almost. Agron had a thick accent and thick arms and Nasir wasn't expecting for them to become best friends but somehow they did. 

So, it's normal now for them to spend every minute of the day together. They have a Snapstreak of four hundred and sixty-five. Nasir is pretty sure half of Agron's closet has ended up somehow in Nasir's dorm, either from sleepovers or random days when they have to change to go to parties. It just happens. 

It'd be great. It is great. Except. Well. Agron is European. But he’s in a frat. Like, one of the biggest on campus. And he’s here on a rugby scholarship. And he’s so fucking straight. Talking hetero masc at its finest. But Agron can't seem to keep his hands to himself. 

It starts with a hand on Nasir's lower back, gentle and soft, guiding him through a crowded cafeteria. He’s laughing about something until someone bumps into Nasir, almost making him spill his tray, then he’s all gritted teeth and swearing. Then it's an arm slung across Nasir's shoulders at a party, heavy and warm, and Nasir spent the whole night smelling Agron's cologne and memorizing the feeling of his skin against the back of Nasir's neck. Then they go to a street fair and Nasir knows he's short, so Agron holds his hand so that they don't lose him. 

Dorm beds are tiny. So, when Agron spends the night over (his own room is clear across campus), they end up curled around one another. They binge watch this way too, made it all the way through Stranger Things in a long weekend that consisted of sushi GrubHub and Nasir wearing Agron's sweatpants because he was too lazy to go to his own room and change. Nasir has woken up more than a dozen times with his head on Agron's chest, legs tangled. 

And it's fine. It is. Agron is European. He's German. It's a different culture. But. Nasir is so fucking gay. 

It's not his fault, he reasons. He would never push Agron. Would never want to make him feel uncomfortable. He respects him too much, loves him too much really, to ever cross that line. It's just, Agron is so ridiculously attractive it kind of makes Nasir want to die. Or at least disappear into a void where the memory of everything Agron can't reach him. 

Sometimes Agron is so sincere, wraps his letterman's jacket around Nasir on those cold Northeastern fall days. He brings Nasir coffee outside of his 8ams. He always saves him a seat at lunch, brushes the hair out of his eyes when they sneak behind the library to share a cigarette. Agron shouldn't because he's an athlete, but he likes to give into Nasir's bad habits. Just like the midnight ice cream runs they make to Wawa, always alone and always on Agron’s motorcycle. And when it's late and the laptop has died and Nasir and Agron lay beside one another in the dark and whisper about the future and what they're scared of, ankles crossing, Nasir can almost pretend. Almost. 

It's how he ends up in this tattoo parlor, sitting cross legged on a table, watching ink be drawn over Agron's ribs. It's such a jock place to get a tattoo, such a fucking stereotype, but Agron is shirtless and gritting his teeth and Nasir feels bad he's hurting. He also feels bade because he keeps getting distracted by the happy trail leading into his jeans and the deep v of his hips. 

The tattoo artist is some thin guy with a septum piercing and thick eyebrows. He's pretty good, portfolio nice, but he's not really a talker. Nasir can't stand the sound of Agron's hisses, teeth sharp as the man draws into his skin. 

"You know Pietros finally got Barca to agree to cosplay." Nasir starts, scooting closer, pushing his phone into his hoodie pocket.

"Yeah?" Agron growls, wrinkling his nose. He's got a drop of sweat trailing down his neck and Nasir brushes it away, whipping his fingers on his jeans. The tattoo artist looks up at him, surprised, but goes back to shading around the snarling wolf’s mouth. 

“Yeah. Don’t know who they’re going as. Probably some anime shit.” Nasir laughs, relieved when Agron chuckles a little. He has his arm curled up under his head, the other resting against the table, knuckles white. He shudders when the tattoo artist leans back, slowly glancing at both of them. Nasir squirms under the scrutiny, curling his hands in his hoodie pocket. He forgot he’s wearing that rainbow ribbon bracelet Pietros made him. 

“If you want to go still, we can. I’ll dress up for you.” Agron smirks, his cheeks pink and dimpled. “What you want to be? Sailor Moon? I could rent a tux. I’d make a great Tuxedo Mask.”

“Yeah because he just stands there.” Nasir lightly thumps Agron’s foot with his own. “Sailor Moon always has to save the day.”

“You want to be Deadpool and Spiderman? You could pull off the costume. Or,” Agron pauses, eyes going wide in excitement. “OR, or we could do a Hercules and Megara. You have the hair. You said you always have wanted to do Disney.”

“We don’t have to match.” Nasir watches the tattoo artist again. He’s paused, wiping down Agron’s side with a weird sort of look on his face. It’s half a grin and half confusion, like he’s trying to figure them out. 

“But I want to match.” Agron pouts. “I mean, do you think you have time to whip me up a believable Big Daddy costume?”

“That’s a lot to ask.” Tattoo guy cuts in, chuckling a little. “You guys that close?”

“He could do it. I’ve seen Nasir pull bigger things out of his ass.” Agron grins, his teeth gritted together as another dark line is drawn in. 

Tattoo artist guy clears his throat, raising an eyebrow at them. Nasir can feel his face warming, unsure if he should explain what they’re talking about or not. Agron only means the art projects Nasir has pulled off last minute, the ones he has to stretch and prime, and still gets a good grade on. But it feels awkward and not necessary, even though tattoo guy sends him a wink. 

“I see. I’m going to get a water. You want anything, man?”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks.” Agron can’t really move, still curled up on his side. Nasir waits until the cloth door slips back into place, the awkwardness lessening slightly, before he crouches down level with the side of the bed. He brushes a few strands of Agron’s hair from his face, rubbing his arm.

“How you doing, champ?” Nasir grins. He knew it was going to hurt, had warned Agron, but maybe he should have tried harder

“Fucking sucks. Why didn’t you talk me out of this?” Agron laughs breathlessly. There is ink and blood smeared on his ribs, the skin looking raw and red. It looks sick though, a snarling wolf face with sharp teeth and something in German under it. Nasir tries very hard not to look at the cut of Agron’s pec, nipples hard in the cold air, abs flexed against the pain.

“I tried.” Nasir can’t help but shake his head, sticking his tongue out. “If I remember correctly you said something like,” Nasir’s voice dips, “Ha ha, puney American. In Soviet Germany, you hurt pain.”

It’s a terrible Russian accent and Agron bursts out laughing, instantly groaning and trying to hold his side. It shoots through Nasir, chokes him a little, and Nasir hates and loves that he’s often the only one privy to these sudden onslaughts of giggles. Agron seems to remember last minute about his side though and instead slams his fist back on the mattress, eyes squeezed tight. 

“I’m sorry. Can I do anything?” Nasir asks, going back to brushing his fingers along Agron’s forehead. 

“Will you hold my hand?” Agron grits out around clenched teeth. “I promise not to break your fingers or anything.”

“Sure.” 

Nasir is about to slip his palm into Agron’s when tattoo artist guy comes back, handing a bottle of water to Agron. In his position, he can’t really open it so he hands it off to Nasir, smiling wide when he doesn’t even need to ask. Nasir cracks the plastic, offering it over, silently cursing the way tattoo artist guy is watching them again. He doesn’t fucking get it. What is up with this guy? Agron drains half the bottle, chugging with a droplet escaping down his jaw. 

“Here.” Panting, Agron hands it back over, making a disgruntled noise when Nasir goes to put the cap back on. “No, go ahead. I know you gotta be thirsty.”

Shrugging, Nasir raises the bottle to his lips, taking a small sip when tattoo artist guy glances from Agron and then to Nasir, a grin pulling over his inked face. It’s in that moment, half caught between in inhale and a swallow, Nasir realizes what this guy is fucking cheesing over. Nasir is wearing Agron’s hoodie, because it’s cold and he was already at Agron’s dorm when they decided to head over. It’s about four sizes too big, long in the arms and falling to Nasir’s midthighs. He’s also sitting with his free hand in Agron’s, a bottle of water shared between them. Agron also had just suggested three couples cosplays and has been spouting inside jokes and weird references all afternoon. 

He thinks they’re dating. 

And now Nasir is stuck, stuck with a mouthful of water and stuck unsure of how to proceed. Should he correct him? How can he do that without it being awkward? Should he hint at it? Nasir really needs to swallow this water. He really needs to recenter. He wasn’t trying to give off those vibes. He’s just here being a good buddy, a pal, helping Agron through the agony of getting a tattoo. This is best friend status. Not. 

Okay. So Nasir is lying if the idea isn’t appealing. But. No. 

Nasir is a great fucking friend. A top notch man. A bro’s bro. Number one fam. All those other hetero things they say on those CW shows.  
Except, Agron is muttering something and Nasir totally misses it, swallows down the now lukewarm water and tilts his head. It makes Agron laugh again, breathless and strained, unhooking their fingers to reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind Nasir’s ear. 

“Hey, Earth to Spaceman 1.” Agron teases. “You want to distract me with words and not just your pretty face? I’m kind of dying over here.”

Nasir can't even say anything; he just can't. He can feel tattoo guy's eyes on him, grinning a little. Almost like he knows. Except he knows nothing. So, he just goes back to tattooing and Nasir is half a breath away from a full on gay panic attack, when Agron curses, desperately gripping onto Nasir, and what is Nasir supposed to do? 

He's a good friend. A bro. A best bro. The bro-iest.

So he sits there, and watches his dark fingers disappearing between Agron's, their wrists pressed closer together. He makes small talk about Star Wars and Comic Con, and how yes, they do need to rewatch Full Metal Alchemist. Agron laughs some and grits his teeth more and Nasir is a good friend. Until it's finally over and Agron is pulling on his shirt.

"You gonna get any ink soon?" Tattoo guy asks, printing out forms for Agron to take home for aftercare.

"Um, maybe." Nasir shrugs, noncommitally flipping through a tattoo magazine. In reality, he knows he probably will soon. But it’s not like he can come back here. Tattoo guy is gonna ask him where his boyfriend is, if and only if Nasir doesn’t take Agron, but knowing the two of them, he will. Then tattoo artist guy will smirk and grin his way through another few hours where Nasir nearly dies because he wants to be Agron’s boyfriend. 

"Oh, he will. And I'm going to have to be the one holding his hand," Agron laughs, teasing Nasir by bumping into him. Nasir doesn’t look up, doesn’t take his eyes off a full backpiece of a Chinese dragon.

"Well, I should hope so." Tattoo guy winks at Nasir and Nasir might actually die. He can feel his heart actually escape out of his chest, left just flopping around the shop floor. It probably has eyes and a scowl like one of those heartburn commercials.

Fuck Agron. Fuck him and his attractive face. Fuck that Attack on Titan tanktop he’s wearing. Fuck Nasir’s rapidly increasing panic. And most of all, fuck tattoo guy and fucking calling him out like this. 

Just fuck everything. 

Later, Nasir sits across from Agron at an ice cream shop downtown. It's tiny and very pink, the type that has too many flavors and not enough patrons. What does he expect on a Friday night though? It’s not like anyone comes here to scout for 31 flavors of dick. Nasir is halfway through a brownie sundae and Agron is Instagraming his cinnamon cone (his coach is going to kill him) when Nasir kind of clears his throat. 

"Hey Ags?"

"Yeah?" Agron asks, clicking around on his phone. He keeps muttering about filters and too pink lighting. 

"Um." 

Nasir wants to say it. He does. Wants to confess with caramel sauce sticking to the roof of his mouth. Wants to say, ‘Hey bud. I’m sorry. But I literally can’t handle this anymore. You’re really hot and really funny and the sweetest guy I know. I love how you think Pokemon counts as an anime and how you hate all the Marvel movies except Thor. I have never fit inside anyone’s arms the way I fit in yours. It’s like we were made to be together Why are we not dating yet?’ But then he glances behind and sees a group of three girls whispering to one another at the counter, staring over at them. And they never stare for Nasir. It’s always Agron. Nasir knows this. The one in front, tall and blond and pretty, eyes them carefully before leaving her friends and heading over. 

"Hi." She purposefully turns her back towards Nasir, grinning over at Agron. Nasir doesn’t blame him entirely, though it’s rude as fuck.

Nasir almost feels bad for her, he actually does, when Agron glances up for his phone for half a second and then back. 

“What do you want?”

"We have Intro to Western Lit together." She tries again, flashing an uneasy smile towards her friends. "I sit beside you."

"Cool." Agron nods, then lifts his phone again. He’s got a glitter phone case that Duro bought him as a prank gift that Agron actually finds calming and loves. "Can you step over? The open sign light is reflecting really nice on my boyfriend's face. I want to get another picture."

She looks furious. Nasir can't breathe. And Agron is still fucking grinning when he takes the pic.

Nasir doesn’t move, even when she walks away, stuck with his phone halfway to his mouth, chocolate and caramel dripping all over the formica table. 

“Babe, don’t waste it!” Agron acts like nothing is wrong, using his fingers to wipe it clean, sucking the goo off of it after. Nasir can have an aneurism about that later. Right now, he is trying to piece together what the fuck just happened. Did they time jump? Is it Berenstein or Berenstain in this universe? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Agron drags his tongue up the side of his ice cream cone, raising a brow. 

“I’m not-“ Nasir chokes and then shakes his head. “Did you just call me that to get her to go away?”

“No.” Agron drags the word out. “You look really nice in pink light. It gives you that, what does Mira call it? Shadow and contrast?”

“Not the light.” Nasir kind of wants to vomit and also kind of wants to crawl under the table and never leave. New residence as ice cream establishment goblin. “About being…”

“My boyfriend?” Agron scoffs, setting his phone aside. “Well you are, aren’t you? What do you want me to call you? My beau? My kitten? My little man?”

“Agron!” Nasir hisses, full on panic, almost choking as Agron giggles, reaching over to steal a bite of Nasir’s sundae. 

“I can’t really call you my lover.” Agron shrugs so nonchalant and Nasir can feel his brain melting and running down his ears. “Not that I’m pushing. I know you can be shy. I want you to know I’m willing to wait.”

“Willing to…” Nasir trails off, staring and staring and memorizing Agron’s face in the neon lights. “Wait? Wait on what?”

“We can start slow though. I mean, I’ve been dying to blow you since we met but I’m patient. America is so strict about sex. Your whole country would do well if they just accepted it. It’s freeing.”

“Agron!” Nasir hisses, making a face at a woman with a toddler that is quickly walking out the door, glaring. “We’re not…I mean, we’re friends.”

“Best friends.” Agron agrees, crunching loudly on his cone. “Why wouldn’t I want my boyfriend to be my best friend?”

“But we never…I mean…We have never even kissed. We’re friends.” Nasir fumbles his spoon onto the table, appetite suddenly gone. 

“We’ve kissed. At Mira and Naevia’s party.” Agron looks up sharply, brow furrowed. “You don’t remember?”

“I mean, I do. But.” Nasir chokes, bewildered. “We were so drunk and I had known you for like six hours!”

“Didn’t stop you from climbing into my lap and kissing me.” Agron shrugs, then, as if seeming to realize, he cocks his head to the side. “You really didn’t know? I’ve been living in your dorm for most of the semester. Nasir, I’m an athlete. A half mile is not that far to jog for me.”

“Oh.” Nasir fiddles with his spoon, dropping his eyes. He feels suddenly very dumb and very warm. 

“I always have you sit by me. We share a bed. I know all your favorite things. I even sat and suffered and watched Vampire Knight with you. I scared Castus away from you at that party.” Agron lists, shaking his head. “I take every opportunity to hold your hand.”

“I like when you do.” Nasir whispers, face burning. He is the dumbest, luckiest person right now. 

“So?” Agron reaches over, fumbles the spoon from Nasir’s hand. “Come on then.”

He pulls him up, leads him out of the ice cream shop and into the warm summer air. Nasir lets him, lets him guide him halfway to his dorm before he can really think to say anything. And honestly. Nasir had always thought they were too close but Pietros had reasoned it for him. Agron is European. He is!

“Agron.” Nasir stops on a street corner, his hand warm in Agron’s own, fingers laced. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” Agron’s laugh is suddenly cut off as Nasir crowds close to him, pressing into him. 

“For making you think all this time that I was shy.”

Nasir has to raise on his toes, uses his free hand fisted in Agron’s tank to pull him down, kissing him hard in the pale street lamp. A car whizzes by, honking loudly, but Nasir only hears Agron’s soft gasp, feels the dimples against his own cheek. 

“Well, no sense in wasting more time.” Agron warns before he suddenly scoops Nasir up, tossing him over his shoulder. Nasir’s dorm is only half a block away anyways, and surprisingly always empty.


End file.
